


Whiter Than Red

by PupAndCub



Series: Mark My Words [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Assassins & Hitmen, Eventual Fluff, Killer Taeyong, M/M, clueless Mark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 20:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12283593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PupAndCub/pseuds/PupAndCub
Summary: Who would have thought that going out to buy ice cream around midnight would result in being the witness of a crime scene and not just any crime scene? Let's say Lee taeyong is the killer and Mark happens to be there... Mark's ice cream is going to melt. He may or may not follow along.





	Whiter Than Red

**Author's Note:**

> Previously was called '｢Red｣' I edited it a bit and plan to update this with a new chapter one soon!

Mark stays motionless on the spot, unbelieving of the scene in front of him. He knows he should turn around and act as if he didn’t see what he’s staring at right now. He figures he put it on himself by venturing outside at this hour. Like who walks out around 1 in the morning to go buy ice cream at the convenience store? Apparently Mark Lee. He can only blame his stupid self and his craving for ice cream as he stares at the man with his back is facing him. The stranger is kneeling down and visibly holding a knife. A bloody knife. Bloody…

Mark always thought of the city he lives in to be a safe one due to the low numbers of crimes reported by the police, that is until now. Never in his life (short life) would he have expected his self to be the witness of a murder? The man on his knees is clearly the cause of the mess Mark is witnessing ― there’s a man, laying lifeless on the ground in a pool of blood, there's blood oozing out of his neck, and by the sight, it is clear as water that he won't get up ever again.

Mark’s shocked eyes travel back to the man as he catches movements from him from the corner of his irises.

Said man is now stretching his hands and Mark knows he doesn't have much time to get away unharmed. It's now or never. His hands clench around the bag containing the vanilla ice cream tube and he mentally curses the convenience store for being open twenty-four hours, all seven days of the week.

But this time, what keeps Mark from turning his back on the scene is the knowing smirk stretching on the side of the boy’s face ― his cap hides half of his face, but Mark is pretty damn sure it's there and on top of that the stranger’s head is moved sideways as if that smirk was meant for Mark-- He is doing a counting with his fingers now. Mark’s brows twitches.

Oh god, does he knows--

Mark’s entire being freezes as he sees the stranger slowly getting up with the knife still in his hands. He turns away and makes to go, but the deep voice roots him on his spot… he knows.

“I gave you quite some time to get away before I got up you know?” The man points out while stretching his limbs, a very apparent mocking tone in his quiet and calm yet deep voice.

He knew all along.

Mark gulps and slowly turn around to face the said man and flinches as he notices how close the latter is to him. When did he move? Mark didn't hear a single footstep other than his own in that short span of time.

“Maybe you have a death wish.” The man looks down at his small knife and looks back over to the trembling boy.

A gentle-like smile traces his lips as he almost too sweetly states, “the scared look on your face right now says otherwise.”

“Or you didn't want to?” Mark doesn't know what gave him away when he himself doesn't even know why the hell he's still here when the man observes, “Oh, you really didn't want to. Curiosity is dangerous y’know.” He smirks, looking Mark up and down in the almost full darkness before continuing in an amused tone, “Especially for someone as cute as you. Pretty things are not always valued. Well, it depends some like being broken in some ways.” he finishes with a glint in his eyes Mark finds hard to decipher.

Mark lost for words to say and still assimilating the situation and the words thrown at him can only take a step back as he sees the stranger take one in. The street becomes brighter and brighter as they step forward and backward, albeit in the same direction. Both are now in the empty main street, still illuminated by the city’s seemingly never fading dim golden lights.

The man hums and takes another step in and an amused smile curve on his lips as Mark takes one back right away.

“I feel like I’m talking to a wall. But don't worry, I've got my ways to make you talk.” The man hints just as he takes out of his pocket his little knife. Mark had forgotten about it and his eyes linger on the pocket for a moment in wonder. He then looks up to intense, huge dark orbs already staring attentively at his every move.

Mark notices that they are now dangerously close, the stranger is now one step away from Mark, who has nowhere to retreat. It results in his frail back hitting a brick wall and the latter startles at the contact.

 

Then he brings his right hand up, Mark’s breath stutters and he tries his best to not flinch as he feels the tip of his hoodies being pulled away. Revealing his messy blond hair tied in an almost bun. Mark doesn't have time to muse over the embarrassing state his hair is in because the other is muttering, “How cute,” as he twirls, with his unoccupied hand, a pretty long, wild strand of hair that failed to stay put in his tied mess of a hair--

Did he just call my hair c-cute while holding a knife, he'd just have to move an inch to end my life with? Jesus, take me already--

The man tilts his head to the side, intrigued by the changes of expressions of the blonde boy. All that under five seconds, how interesting.

Mark stares dazedly at the much clearer, but still hidden features in front of his eyes.

He didn't really know what an angel was until now when he's on the verge of being killed by that angel, he thinks as the man plays with his knife. Twirling it between his fingers, skillfully.

Or more like the angel of death, Mark mentally corrects himself.


End file.
